


Constellations

by faikitty



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Fluristelle Month 2017, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: Flynn needs to relax.





	Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally had a timeline for this, but I was remembering the game wrong, so this just takes place before some vague big battle.

Sometimes, Flynn needs to let go.

They have a battle the next day, a _big_ battle, and Flynn has _always_ been one to get irritable the night before a big event. Even when they were in the Niren Corps together, Flynn would storm around before leaving on an assignment, however small, because it was something that mattered so much to him. He’s mellowed since then, true; at his rank, he can’t seem stressed for any reason or act as if he’s taking frustration out on his subordinates.

Yuri knows him better than his cool façade, though.

The group stopped to make camp hours ago. All of the tents have been set up, the food eaten, the stories passed around for entertainment like currency. Half the group has gone to bed; only Raven and Judith remain, talking low by the fireside, Judith’s smile tight enough that Yuri isn’t surprised one bit when a slap rings out. But she still doesn’t move, and she and Raven are laughing about it again a few seconds later, albeit with Raven more subdued and less… ogling. When Flynn rises and heads out down the hill from where they made their camp, Yuri follows. He thinks he’s being sneaky at first (either that or Flynn really _has_ lost his touch), watching Flynn make his way down the hill and sit. Yuri crouches in the shadows. He gazes at Flynn as Flynn gazes at the constellations in the sky, the stars and moon letting Yuri see a bit more than just the shape of the other man.

Then Flynn turns to look directly at him.

“Why are you following me?” he asks suspiciously, a look on his face that says he already knows he doesn’t like the answer, and Yuri feigns hurt at the question.

“What, I can’t sit and talk with you the night before we might die?” Yuri averts his eyes at the shadow of pain the passes over Flynn’s face at the thought, memories stirring under the skin that are better left forgotten. “I thought you might want to have fun,” he continues hastily. He sits next to Flynn in the grass. In the starlight, the details of Flynn’s face are hard to make out, but Yuri can see his bright eyes tracing his face.

“You just said we might die tomorrow. We have to be at the top of our game,” Flynn says, his gaze returning to the night sky.

Yuri frowns. “It’ll be fine,” he encourages. “It’ll help you get to sleep. You can’t _really_ think you’re going to get decent rest if you’re this pent-up, do you?”

“I am not _pent-up_ ,” Flynn snaps, and Yuri tilts his head questioningly. Flynn draws his legs up to his chest, the defensive movement so familiar from their teenage years that Yuri can’t help but smile. “You do what you want.”

“I can stay here, then?”

“I don’t care.”

Yuri’s smile turns into a smirk as he straightens up. “I might sleep out here,” he considers, and Flynn closes his eyes and huffs. “But it’s hot,” he complains, stretching and shaking out his arms. “I can’t sleep like _this_.”

Yuri takes his time undressing. He feels ridiculous, flirting in such an unabashedly obvious manner, but it’s always fun to mess with Flynn. He makes it a game, sees how slowly he can undo the closures of his shirt, how far he can drag a finger down his already low neckline before the fabric is pulled open enough to reveal anything. He watches Flynn out of the corner of his eye—watches Flynn watch _him_. Even in the low starlight, he can see the color of Flynn’s face deepen as he frowns, his eyes fixed on Yuri as the long-haired man pulls his hair free of the ponytail Judith had tied it in for him in the daytime heat. It’s cooler now that the sun has set, but as Yuri shakes out his hair a bead of sweat still falls over his collarbone. He doesn’t brush it away; he’s hoping Flynn can _just_ see the glint as it travels down his chest and over his abdomen. He thinks he probably can, given how Flynn’s gaze is pointedly anywhere _but_ Yuri at this point.

When Yuri finally pulls his shirt from his skin and lets it fall from his shoulders, he hears Flynn finally speak, voice satisfyingly thick. “Yuri—”

 _Too easy_. “Yeah?” Yuri turns to face him, feigning innocence they _both_ know isn’t there.

Flynn holds Yuri’s gaze steadily for a few heartbeats then closes his eyes and sighs. “I hate you,” he mutters before crossing the distance between them and meeting Yuri in a crushing kiss, all hunger and nothing gentle in the motion. Yuri smiles into the kiss, his grin only growing when he feels Flynn frown in response. “Don’t make me regret this,” Flynn growls, and Yuri laughs.

“You’re allowed to have fun sometimes,” Yuri reassures him. Flynn only huffs and leans back into the kiss, one hand snaking beneath Yuri’s hair to weight against the back of his neck, fingers playing lightly on the sides in an unvoiced threat that makes Yuri shiver in anticipation. Flynn is most fun like this, riled up, angry for letting Yuri have his way.

Flynn is fun when he lets _go_.

Yuri’s lips part, heat spreading down his spine from where Flynn’s hand rests on his neck, warm against his skin, and his fingers find Flynn’s hips to hook his thumbs over the blond’s waistband. Flynn bites at his lower lip, tugs just to the edge of bruising until Yuri whines a wordless complaint low in his throat. Flynn grunts begrudging acknowledgment and leans back, lashes dipping to take in Yuri on the edge of his vision, to see details in the darkness. Yuri presses forward just enough to tip Flynn off balance and land him on his back in the grass.

Yuri rests his chin on Flynn’s chest, his knees bent and ankles crossed in the air. “I win,” he says gleefully.

Flynn scowls. “It was never a competition, you—” Yuri doesn’t let him finish; he’s busy reaching up to cut off the sentence and Flynn’s breath with another kiss, pinning the blond to the earth with his hips as he moves, grinding down against the growing pressure under him until he’s rewarded with a gasp against his lips. Yuri shifts down to slot a knee between Flynn’s thighs, his fingers playing along the edge of the fabric of Flynn’s pants and curling to palm over the rising heat beneath. He leaves it there, still, only moving to kiss Flynn and keep even pressure as Flynn all but writhes under him, seeks friction against the hand that Yuri won’t give him the satisfaction of having. When Flynn opens his mouth in a frustrated groan, Yuri slips his tongue in, pressed against teeth he can’t be sure won’t close over it. The blond’s hips cant forward, a silent plea for motion as Yuri closes his hand over the shape of the other man, squeezing but still not moving, not undoing the laces to free him, not yet.

Yuri rocks back onto his heels, legs bent beneath him, the fingers of his free hand trailing over the hard muscles of Flynn’s abdomen, the thin shirt over them no real barrier at all. He pauses. Flynn is tilting his head back, his eyes closed and one hand clutching at his shirt in an effort to keep from reaching down himself, his breathing rushed and his face flushed. Yuri can only see the bare minimum of his features in the darkness but it’s enough, enough to see the shape of his parted lips and the staccato rise and fall of his chest. It sparks heat into Yuri’s veins, it _always_ does, to know _he_ is the only one who can get the captain off like this.

Yuri ignores Flynn’s noise of impatience as he takes away the pressure of his palm to shove Flynn’s legs open and lower himself to fit between them. Yuri feels himself harden as he undoes the laces of Flynn’s pants, the blond’s arousal evident in the flushed heat of his cock. He sets his teeth to the nearby skin, lets his fingers play over Flynn’s length, and when Flynn’s hand goes to twine in his hair he moves to press his lips to the tip, a ghost of a thought.

Flynn looks up sharply, but he drops his head back when he sees Yuri watching him, his body heating beneath the long-haired man. “Yuri, you don’t have to—” The rough edge of pleasure to the words ruin their intended effect, and Flynn knows it by the way his skin darkens and his cock twitches against Yuri’s lips.

“Relax,” Yuri murmurs in a low voice, his lips vibrating against Flynn as he speaks. Flynn drags a shaking hand over his face as Yuri takes him briefly past his lips, and he mutters a breathless “ _god_.” Yuri leans back again, only for a moment, to say, “And be quiet. Or someone might hear you.” But he doesn’t let Flynn prepare himself, even as he feels the other man’s arm move to shove a fist against his mouth in what Yuri assumes is an effort to stay quiet. He’s ducking his head, rocking forward to pull Flynn into his mouth, over his tongue and past his teeth, and sliding forward until he meets resistance in his body, and Flynn gives a broken moan before he can stop himself.

Yuri feels salt on his tongue, the taste and shape of Flynn filling the back of his mouth, pressure in his throat that makes tears spring to his eyes. His nostrils flare as he takes a shuddering breath and swallows Flynn deeper then pulls back, focused at the head of his cock to make Flynn’s hips buck up of their own accord. He braces a hand at Flynn’s waist to keep him from coming up to meet him, takes a breath, and licks long against Flynn’s length, his tongue flat on the underneath of his cock until he has to lean forward and strain to keep Flynn’s hips from lifting. When he takes Flynn into his mouth again he hears a muffled, incoherent moan, past the fist against Flynn’s lips, and he can see the image so clearly in his mind: Flynn, sprawled out on the grass with starlight on his face and Yuri between his legs, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his teeth making indentions in his skin, the fingers of his other hand curled in Yuri’s hair, pulling, pulling.

Yuri spreads his own legs, angling his hips wider to increase the pressure against his too hot cock. He won’t be reduced to rutting against Flynn’s leg like a dog, not yet, but his hips still rise to find tension against the front of his pants. His heart beats heavy in his chest, loud in his head, and he slips his hand from Flynn’s hips to the hills of his abdomen, trailing under his shirt to weight against the toned muscles beneath, all drawn taut to snapping. He lets his hand drop lower, fingers spread wide over the lines of Flynn’s ribs, the tense shape of his muscles, the rise of his hips and the dip of the v until he can wrap them around the base of Flynn’s cock. Flynn’s hips jerk, a subconscious twitch up and into Yuri’s hand, his body trembling as Yuri trails his tongue from his fingers back up. When Flynn’s hand in his hair tugs hard enough to prick pain on his head, Yuri finally draws his cock into his mouth again and sucks hard enough to make his cheeks hollow, his hand moving in time with the slick motion of his mouth.

“Yuri,” Flynn groans, the words coming hard on an exhale, loud, _too_ loud, Yuri thinks, but he doesn’t really care anymore. He barely hears them at all over the heat in his veins, the echo of his heart in his head and the sound his own mouth makes it works over Flynn’s cock. He gives a hum of acknowledgment low in his throat, feeling the swell of it over his tongue and the shape of Flynn. “I can’t—”

Yuri huffs a breath and swallows Flynn’s length down into his protesting throat, past the burning in his eyes, his own cock pressed achingly hard against the resistance of the fabric in front of it. He has to focus on Flynn, the heavy shape of him on his tongue and the strain of his thighs as they fold against Yuri’s shoulders, to keep from letting his hips grind him down against the ground. Flynn’s back is arching, his hips bucking up as his fingers draw tight in Yuri’s hair and _pull_ , and Yuri’s hand is twisting as he takes Flynn all the way, until his nose is touching skin, all the way, until he can’t remember what breathing feels like. He chokes on the heat spilling down his throat as Flynn comes in his mouth, but he doesn’t try to lean back, isn’t sure Flynn would even _let_ him at this point, so he swallows hard, Flynn’s ragged, overworked moan thrumming through his body. He doesn’t pull back until Flynn jerks away in oversensitivity, his moan turning to a gasp and his hand in Yuri’s hair shoving at him instead of tugging.

Flynn’s eyes are soft and hazy when Yuri finally rises, the hand that was so ineffectually pushed against his mouth lying limp against his cheek as if Yuri sucked all of the strength out of him. He looks at Yuri as if through water, lashes of his half-lidded eyes casting shadows over his skin to make him look all worn out, like _he_ was the one doing all the work. Yuri lifts a brow and presses the heel of his hand to his cheeks to wipe away tears, and he wonders for a moment, watching the moonlight reflected in the whites of the other man’s eyes and the quick rise and fall of his chest stilling, if Flynn is just going to leave him now to sleep like some cliché from a bad romance book.

But when Yuri swipes a hand over his mouth Flynn moves again, quick and sudden, to catch Yuri’s wrist and kiss him hard, only once, meeting Yuri’s eyes as he does so, a glow to them that matches the desperate heat Yuri knows must be in his. He has to close his eyes as his face flushes, dizziness rushing over him as Flynn pulls him into his lap. He doesn’t complain this time when the blond’s teeth catch at his lip. He reaches around Flynn’s back to grab at his clothes, seeking some sort of handhold while Flynn kisses him, his fingers twisting in the fabric. He arches up to grind against Flynn’s hip, breaking away from Flynn’s lips to pant, the promise of relief almost better than relief itself, not caring when the groan spills over his tongue. Flynn ducks his head, fingers going back to Yuri’s long hair to jerk his head back, far from gentle, to give him access to the sensitive skin in the crook of Yuri’s neck. He fits his teeth to his collarbone, leaving marks Yuri _knows_ will be visible come morning.

But then, Flynn _has_ always liked to show his ownership, and Yuri has never protested.

“Should I just let you get yourself off?” Flynn breathes against his skin, biting down again hard, and Yuri wishes he could say the tone of disdain in Flynn’s voice doesn’t make him even hotter but it _does_. Yuri shifts his weight, arcs up to draw enough pressure to send shocks of heat down his spine. “You’re doing a good enough job of it.”

Yuri gives a shudder of laughter and presses in closer, hips tilting back and then up, pinning himself against Flynn’s hip as Flynn’s hands stay where they are, one in his hair to control him and one resting close, painfully close, on his thigh, thumb moving in small circles he can just feel through his pants. “I’d rather you not,” Yuri says, his voice higher than he meant for it to be but still steadier than he was expecting. He slides down, ruts his cock against the hard crest of Flynn’s hip, and bites back a gasp as Flynn’s teeth press hard into his skin. “I’m not above begging.” Flynn’s shoulders stiffen at that, and Yuri adds, “ _please_.”

Yuri barely keeps in a groan as Flynn moves beneath him, tilts back, and shakes his head. “You’re awful,” the blond says, then he leans back in, and when the resistance of fabric is switched with weight of Flynn’s hand, Yuri’s body goes slack for a beat, all but his head, surging forward to press against Flynn’s shoulder like he’s in pain, his breath catching on a moan. He’s not sure which of them is moving anymore, whether Flynn’s hand is stroking down on his cock or he’s angling up into it, but it doesn’t matter either way because the heat is already pooling in Yuri’s stomach. His fingers are digging into Flynn’s shoulder and Flynn’s mouth is skimming over his jaw, and he can’t _breathe_ , is gasping for air like a drowned man. Flynn’s hand grips him too tight, and he’s too hot, was too hot when they started this. Flynn forces Yuri’s head back again, his hand following a steady rhythm over his length, his teeth on Yuri’s throat, and Yuri rocks forward without meaning to. His legs are shaking and his breathing stalls in a moan, and he feels light-headed as his heart stutters into pleasure and it’s too much, too much, too much. Yuri comes without any resistance to muffle what is almost a sob, his whole body shaking into orgasm in Flynn’s grip, and for a moment he can’t find any air as he drops into boneless pleasure. Flynn hangs onto him, his rough hands growing gentle and his teeth traded for soft lips, for small kisses planted on Yuri’s neck. Yuri can feel the heat of Flynn’s skin like a fever, and he moves his own hands to Flynn’s chin to lift his head so he can kiss the blond’s lips, the taste of salt still hanging on his tongue.

They stay like that for several heartbeats, the kisses shared soft and affectionate in the starlight. “We should sleep,” Flynn murmurs finally, pushing Yuri off his lap and wiping his hand on the grass before rising. He seems almost surprised when Yuri stays seated, his legs curled under him. Yuri can see his head tilt in uncertainty when Yuri shakes his head and smiles.

“Let’s stay here,” he says, gazing up at Flynn to watch the moon shine bright around the knight’s hair like a halo. “We can sleep out here.”

“I don’t think—”

“If we go back now, they’ll just wonder what we were doing for so long. Don’t you have an image to keep up?” Yuri teases. “I can’t believe you’d be so reckless as to have sex outside the night before a battle. For shame, Flynn.”

Flynn takes a step back. “I’m _leaving_ ,” he huffs, but Yuri laughs and catches Flynn’s wrists in his hand to drag him back down.

“Just _stay_ ,” he says, the plea soft and honest this time. “We don’t know what will happen tomorrow.” His fingers squeeze tight on Flynn’s wrists before he lets go, leaving Flynn to stay or go as he chooses. _Don’t let this be our last night together, but if it is, stay_.

Flynn watches him for a few moments then nods, sighs, and lies down in the grass with a motion for Yuri to join him. He does; he lowers himself down to rest his cheek to the crook of Flynn’s neck, to breathe in the familiar smell of Flynn for as long as he can. Like this, he can just hear the steady beat of Flynn’s heart, a drum to match the singing of the crickets and frogs hiding nearby. Flynn’s arm wraps around Yuri, and his fingers return to Yuri’s hair and run gently through the tangled strands. Yuri tilts his head to gaze up at the sky and traces constellations into Flynn’s side, connecting the stars he sees to Flynn’s skin until the blond snorts and shoves his hand away. Yuri’s eyes are too heavy to not stay moving; when his hand stills, his eyelids drop, and he has to drag himself back to consciousness each time with a jolt until Flynn finally puts a hand on his.

“Sleep,” Flynn murmurs, and with his permission Yuri lets his eyes close. “We’ll survive tomorrow. I’m not losing you again. So you can sleep. It’s okay.”

 _You should sleep too_ , Yuri thinks, but he doesn’t say it; his tongue feels like a stone in his mouth. But when Flynn says they won’t die, he knows it’s true, because it _has_ to be.

He’ll sleep tonight, and he’ll live through tomorrow to stay like this with Flynn the next night, too.

They’ll both live.


End file.
